Terror shot through Hannah. What was she threatening to do? Hannah could hardly believe this woman was the same benevolent matron who had received her so kindly only months before. She rushed on desperately. “I have a situation, but I won’t receive any more of my allowance until next week. What would you suggest I do—beg in the streets?”
“No. Nothing so unprofitable. I am a businesswoman after all. Do what most girls in your situation do.”
Hannah shivered. “I would never do such a thing. Whatever you might think of me.”
“Evidence to the contrary, perhaps now is the time to start. Tom Simpkins would set you up in no time, no doubt.”
“Tom Simpkins is a—”
“Tom Simpkins is my brother, girl. Careful what you say.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Beech. But please—”
The eyes moved away from the hatch. “Come back when you’ve got the money.”
She called after the woman, “Who is nursing him?”
“Becky.”
Becky?Sweet, simple, unstable Becky.
Hannah swallowed. “I will get the money, I will. Every last shilling. But promise me you’ll care for him until I return. Please—it isn’t his fault. Take good care of him, I beg of you.”
“Every day you leave him here is another shilling. The rate goes up when you’re in arrears.” The hatch shut with a metallic click. How very final it sounded.
Hannah winced. A shilling a day? It was practically all she earned. She would never catch up. She stood there on the top step, frozen in dread. Her breasts stung with pinpricks of milk. She had wrapped her bosom when she took the new situation—sneaking away to nurse her son once a day and twice on Sundays. Her milk had already diminished, yet the buildup still ached. But that was nothing to the pain in her heart....
With a start, Hannah opened her eyes. She drew in a long breath and blinked at her surroundings. Where was Danny? She looked to the right and to the left, pulse pounding. Then she recalled with a heavy heart that her baby was not with her. He was at Mrs. Beech’s, out of reach.
Becky will look after him, she told herself.Becky will make sure he doesn’t go hungry.
Then Hannah remembered Becky’s trembling hands, pale face, and small, vacant eyes when she’d first seen the bereaved girl wandering the streets of Bath, looking for her own child, forgetting or unwilling to accept that her infant daughter had died.
Her precious son’s well-being was in this girl’s hands?Oh, God in heaven, protect him! Keep him in your safekeeping until I can return for him.
Return. She had to return to him. Now. What had she been thinking to leave him? Had she any idea the Mayfields meant to go so far, she never would have agreed. And now, with Sir John lying near death and his wife drowned, she wouldn’t even receive the generous allowance Lady Mayfield had promised her. How would she ever redeem her son?
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, down her temples and into her hair. She raised a hand to brush the tears away—a hand that bore a large ring. A gold band with amethyst and purple sapphires.
She recognized it again, only now she remembered why—Marianna almost always wore it. How had Lady Mayfield’s ring ended up on her hand? Fragments of memory tried to reassert themselves, but she saw only jumbled pieces through wavy, clouded glass. She had thought it only a dream. Had it really happened? Had she been sensible enough to grasp Lady Mayfield’s hand before the woman was pulled out by the receding tide—and weak as she was, ended up with only her ring?
She blinked and blinked again. It didn’t seem right. What a frightening, unsettling feeling, not being able to sift reality from dream.
But one thing she did remember and knew with all certainty. She needed to find a way to return to Bath as soon as possible, and with enough money to pay her ever-mounting debt to the matron who held her son’s life in her hands. Though in reality both heartless Mrs. Beech and troubled Becky frightened her.
The gems of the ring caught the sunlight slicing through the window, sending shafts of colored light dancing on the ceiling.
A sign, or a temptation?
Surely a ring like this was worth a great deal. A ring Sir John, if he lived, would believe consigned to the tides, lost forever with his wife.
Dare she?
A short while later, Dr. Parrish and his wife stopped by tosee her. He cheerfully reported that the little boy who’d fallen from the tree was recovering nicely. “Little scamp dislocated his collarbone, but I’ve set it back in place. He’ll be right as a trivet in no time.”
“Ifhis poor harried mamma can somehow keep him quiet in bed for a few days,” Mrs. Parrish added doubtfully.
Hannah formed a faint, dutiful smile, though her thoughts and stomach churned. Tentatively, she began, “May I ask, Dr. Parrish. Are you... well-acquainted with Sir John?”
